


Harry Potter and the Mysterious Brolly Man

by hypnagogia



Series: Potterbondlock AU [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - James Bond Fusion, Because I can, Cool, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Minister for Magic Tom Riddle, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Potterbondlock AU, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tom Riddle is a Holmes, Why you ask?, aight so you've heard of bondlock au, now i present you, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26301055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnagogia/pseuds/hypnagogia
Summary: ‘Mister Potter, I presume. Tea? I believe it would help with your headache.’Of course he would get kidnapped when he was out without his wand on muggle London. Of course.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Series: Potterbondlock AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910968
Comments: 12
Kudos: 170





	Harry Potter and the Mysterious Brolly Man

**Author's Note:**

> britpicked by [01Ham10](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/01Ham10/pseuds/01Ham10). thanks a lot for the pointers on how tea works, erin!

Harry woke up to someone steadying him to walk. 

‘Tom?’ Harry couldn’t seem to open his eyes; his head _hurt_. Bloody hell, just how many glasses of rum did the bartender pour him? Did he pass out in front of the door again? More importantly, did he puke in Tom’s fancy cactus again? Bugger. Tom would have his head this time. Harry had just put it there, too, after all the ridiculously gruelling _daily caring instructions_.

He’s got _nicks_ , dammit.

His thought process was cut when he was seated on a chair, one that he decidedly did not feel familiar with. Harry wrenched his eyes open and blinked a few times. The room was surprisingly dark—the only source of light was the solitary window across him, which was partially blocked by a man. Was that a brolly on his hand? 

Where was he? Was he kidn— 

‘Mister Potter, I presume. Tea? I believe it would help with your headache.’

_Bloody buggering hell._

Of course he would get kidnapped when he was out without his wand on muggle London. Of course. When had things ever gone to his favour?

* * *

He was not tied, though. Not by physical or magical means. Thank Merlin for small mercies.

Brolly Man sauntered to his direction then sat in the chair in front of Harry, his face devoid of any emotion. The smart suit he was wearing screamed Muggle, but Harry wasn’t so sure. There was a small table separating them, and a tea table to the left of it. On top of the table tea sat a fine china set—the kind with gold-coloured cracks adorning each piece. The sheer opulence of it all made Harry want to throw up. 

‘Who are you?’ Harry asked. Brolly Man offered him no response. ‘Right. Brolly Man it is, then. I—er—I’m Harry Potter, but you’ve already known that.’

Brolly Man’s face remained stoic, but Harry could tell the minuscule tick on his forehead, which disappeared as soon as it appeared. 

A few moments passed before Brolly Man finally muttered an ‘If you must.’ Then, with a more concise tone: ‘Earl Grey?’

Harry glanced at his surroundings. There was a door on the left. No guards. He stood up abruptly despite the throbbing on his head. ‘Er, thank you, but I believe I should not be here. I promised my boyfriend to be back before midnight. He’d hold my head over it. So. I’m just gonna..’

Right when he was about to turn himself towards the door, a burly man appeared in front of it, effectively blocking his only way out. Of course.

Bollocks.

‘I believe we have something important to talk about. It has been long overdue,’ Brolly Man's face broke no emotion still, but Harry could tell that he had lost a bit of his patience. ‘This would only take a moment if you could cooperate. Please, sit down. Tom Riddle can wait; it is only a little past twelve.’

‘Are you from the Order? I reckon I’ve told you that I have no say in my partner’s political views,’ Harry tilted his head, pose stiff, staring at the man’s eyes. Brolly Man clearly knew Tom—not many people have the privilege nor the guts to even utter his first name.

The look on Brolly Man’s face was flat, but there’s a certain familiar coldness to his eyes, though Harry could not seem to recall exactly _who_ that coldness reminded him of. The man blinked, poured the tea into two cups, and gazed back to Harry. ‘Sugar?’

There was this slight amusement in his voice which made Harry think he knew the answer already, so he did not bother to answer. His hunch was right, of course. After a few moments of silence, Brolly Man put two sugars and poured some milk into Harry’s cup, then stirred it anti-clockwise. Somehow the colour came out exactly the way Harry makes his tea.

He did expect this to happen, but to say that Harry was shocked would be an understatement. ‘What the fuck,’ he spluttered.

Brolly Man directed his gaze back to Harry. ‘My employee and I are all what you refer to as Muggles, so there is no need to worry,’ he said in lieu of an answer. ‘We are not affiliated to the Order of Phoenix in any way. I suppose you could think of us as a neutral third party.

‘A neutral, very concerned third party. As for the tea, which I believe is the reason behind your crude words earlier, let’s just say that we have our sources. Please, do sit down and enjoy. No poison was put into it. You can even use the charmed bracelet to confirm it.’

Brolly Man took a sip of his tea. Harry was still reeling from the whole thing happening to him, but he would be lying if he were to say that he wasn’t thirsty. So he did as Brolly Man said—took the cup from the table and angled it in such a way that would allow the bracelet to touch it, all done without sitting down. Tom would have tutted him for the lack of propriety, but Tom can sod off—Harry was _parched_.

His bracelet remained as it was, no red glow emanating from its chain. Harry took a gulp. It took merely a second for the pounding on his head to fade away, leaving dull throbs in its wake. 

That was unexpected.

The cup was put down immediately. Harry inwardly winced at the faint cluttering sound. Still, his voice was sharp when he retorted by saying, ‘I thought you said you are Muggles.’

‘Aspirin is not quite as efficient as Sobering Draught,’ the man replied. There was a quirk to his lips. ‘We Muggles can’t help but appreciate it. As to how we obtained it, again, let’s just say that we have our sources. You’re welcome, by the way.’

 _You’re welcome_ , he said? Harry was getting more and more annoyed. This has gone for too long—Tom would be livid when Harry arrived back home. ‘What do you want?’ he snapped.

‘I suppose you would not be sitting down, then. Alright,’ Brolly Man checked his wristwatch. Harry could not see the time it showed, but the expression on the man’s face made Harry think that it was over half past midnight. Bugger.

The man stood up.

‘Personally, I preferred to conduct my business with the comfort of chairs—though I can understand your agitation,’ Brolly Man smiled sardonically. What a prick. ‘However, we are running out of time, and I really would rather not anger a man of Tom Marvolo Riddle’s calibre, so I concede. Standing it is. See, I would like to propose a deal,’ the man paused, twirling his brolly in the air before putting it back down and leaned to it.

Was all the dramatics really necessary? Harry clenched his hands, his jaw tightening. His patience was wearing _very_ thin. ‘And that would be?’

‘A decent position at the British Government for a particular werewolf relative of yours,’ Brolly Man answered, still with the wry smile, ‘one that pays quite well, for a small price of an inside to Tom’s activities. I want to know what he does, what he will do, and some information regarding his acquaintances. Nothing incriminating, nothing that would make you feel uncomfortable, no need to be very detailed. We do have our sources, but an inside would be very much appreciated,’ he concluded, tapping his brolly lightly.

‘Why?’

‘I worry. Constantly.’

The tone was surprisingly sincere, but it was already past midnight—Harry was too tired to care. ‘Since you know of my bracelet and the way I take my tea, I believe you know what my answer would be.’

‘Ah, but I would very much prefer hearing it from you. Silence could be interpreted as an affirmation, you see,’ Brolly Man replied, face devoid of any expression.

Harry could _feel_ the vein popping on his temple. ‘I’m way too tired for this. No. The answer is no,’ he spat out. ‘Now if you would please let me go, that would be great.’

Dry chuckles came out of the man’s mouth. What the fuck. Harry was so _done_. He took a step to the direction of the door. Contrary to popular belief, his wandless magic was much better than Tom’s—he just never felt the need to broadcast the fact. Knowledge is power, after all.

He hated favouritism of any sort, but being the boyfriend of Britain's Minister for Magic did have its perks. Tom would not be mad. If anything, the pompous git would preen and claim success on corrupting a Gryffindor.

A hand shot out to grab his as he was about to land his second step.

‘Harry Potter, 30 years old, Head Auror, which I believe is the magical equivalent of our detective inspector. Orphan. You used to live with your Muggle relatives in Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, before enrolling in an enigmatic boarding school somewhere in the Scottish Highlands, where Tom Riddle is also an alumnus of—only to then be adopted by your godfathers; one an ex-convict, the other a werewolf, when the first year ended. Not a single action of entering or exiting a house was sighted ever since.

'Your dossier did say you are very loyal,’ Brolly Man’s face was stolid as he said it, but Harry could see the taunt glinting in his eyes, which was, again, oddly familiar. ‘But to choose a two-month relationship over one of your closest relatives? I expected better from you,’ he barrelled on, voice dripping with thick sarcasm. What a smarmy bastard.

‘Then I suppose your files weren’t detailed enough,’ Harry countered tartly. Remus would sooner turn Harry into his chew toy for the upcoming full moon than willingly work as a _civil servant_.

‘All the more reason to have your input, no?’

‘No.’

‘I could offer you anything you could possibly want, Harry Potter.’

‘Sod off.’

‘Language,’ the man tutted. The words _youth these days_ went unsaid, but they flew about in the air, dampening Harry’s mood even further.

Retorts on the man’s age were right on the tip of Harry’s tongue, but before he could say anything, the man craned his neck back. He sighed rather loudly. Harry can taste the resignation in the man’s face. ‘I expected this to happen, but it still surprised me,’ the man suddenly said as he strode to the window. ‘His flair for dramatics is present as ever, eh? I do suspect that the recent appointment as Minister for Magic does quite a number in worsening it.’

Harry did _not_ see that coming, but he agreed regardless—Tom had always had a flair for the dramatics, and since his appointment a few weeks ago, it had been heightened to levels Harry did not know existed. The thought of agreeing with his captor bothered him, though, so he did not voice it. The room was silent for a few moments. And that was okay—Harry had no problem whatsoever with silence.

Brolly Man did not seem to share the same sentiment, though.

‘He owed someone quite a favour, you know, for this to happen.’

_What?_

‘See, here in Britain, not many people can access the CCTV. Out of them, only about two parties can get access at any given hour. One of them, of course, is yours truly,’ the man explained as he opened the window, ‘the other one is a government boffin who likes to be referred to as _the grand supreme overlord_. His name is, of course, classified, but I believe you would see each other soon.’

Harry was about to cut the man’s speech, maybe talk about how much he didn’t care and _no_ , he really had no interest in meeting whoever this _grand supreme overlord_ might be, but his eyes caught an owl flying into the room before he even managed to open his mouth. Harry _knew_ that owl. So, instead of saying whatever he wanted to say, he called out in askance:

‘Hedwig?’

Who dropped a small piece of parchment on the man’s hand before flying into Harry’s left shoulder and biting his earlobe in greeting. Harry was about to pat her head when he saw another small piece of parchment tied to her left leg. He tugged the ribbon open and picked the scrap of paper.

_I believe it is way past ‘before midnight’, darling. Maybe listen to me and charge your phone fully before you go out next time? Mycroft will offer you a ride. You know how I fee about missed opportunities. See you soon. — Tom_

Harry could feel the grimace colouring his face as he patted Hedwig. He would not get any sleep tonight over Tom lecturing him—he just _knew_ it. _But who the fuck this Mycroft bloke?_

‘I presume Tom told you about your ride home already,’ Brolly Man stated while twirling his brolly.

Realisation dawned into Harry as Hedwig pecked his temple goodbye and flew back home. He could feel his mouth forming a gape as his eyes bugged out. ‘Your name is _Mycroft?_ ’ 

‘Yes. Now if you open that door, my personal assistant will escort you to a car and take you back to your place. Our time has been cut short, apparently; again, not that I did not expect this,’ Mycroft— _what kind of parents were cruel enough to name their spawn with_ that _?_ —said, tone dry as ever. ‘Worry not, we will see each other soon. It was nice talking with you, Harry Potter.’

‘Nope, ta,’ Harry replied just as drily. He turned to the door and walked as fast as he could while mentally bracing himself for Tom’s speech. The faster he reached their flat, the shorter the chastising would be.

‘Do remind Tom of the family dinner next week. Mummy would be very cross if he does not show up,’ Brolly Man— _Mycroft_ —called out as Harry was about to close the door. He turned to face Mycroft for the last time, but the man was already gone.

 _Wait._ ‘Oi, what the fuck?’ Harry shouted into the empty room. _Who—no,_ what _the fuck is this Mycroft_? 

Oh well. Harry had more pressing matters to agonise over. The woman on the door, as Mycroft said, escorted Harry to a sleek black car. The ride back home was silent, save for the tick-tack of the woman’s fake nails tapping the surface of her phone.

* * *

(Later, as he recounted the story to Tom in trying to placate him, Harry would recall that Mycroft specifically said _Mummy_ and realise that the reason he found so many of Mycroft’s actions were because he is Tom’s _brother_.)

(Much later, though before the dinner Mycroft mentioned, Harry would meet the _grand supreme overlord_ Mycroft referred to as Tom gave the young man a tour of the Department of Mysteries. He said Harry could call him Q, as anyone but his minions do. Harry would not ask Tom about the figurative elephant in the room—a Muggle in the DoM. Some things are better left unasked.)


End file.
